


shored against these ruins

by vineasphodel



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Angst, Angst and Feels, Best Friends, Closure, Gen, OT5, OT5 Friendship, One Direction Break Up, Zayn Leaves One Direction, Zayn-centric
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-28
Updated: 2015-08-28
Packaged: 2018-04-07 19:48:50
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,564
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4275786
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vineasphodel/pseuds/vineasphodel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>"before it was over i wanted to send you a postcard that said: don’t try and kill something that’s too big to bury." —derrick brown.</i>
</p><p>a collection of short stories on zayn's leave.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Niall

**Author's Note:**

> this is something i've been floating around in my head on for some time now, since march. i know i have other stuff to work on, namely _my sweet affliction,_ but this was something i felt i needed to write. this will probably be 5 to 6 chapters, so yeah lmao
> 
> disclaimer: this is all purely fiction. just my take on how the boys handled the leave. events follow up until early august. 
> 
> the title is a play on of words from t.s. eliots "the wasteland."

“it’s 5 a.m. and i am drunk and

i know you’re happy and you’re okay

but i’m not and i can’t breathe and

i wish you were here to help me sleep.”

\---- _(via[blissxtide](http://theproblemswithmissingyou.tumblr.com/post/112874016194/its-5-am-and-i-am-drunk-and-i-know-youre-happy))_

 

*** * ***

 

They don’t tell you straight away, not like you think they would.

 

At first when you enter the room, it feels like a joke you’re not let in on. You missed the punchline and everyone else is laughing while you’re struggling to figure out what’s funny. Except that, Louis won’t look at you. His brow is furrowed and his jaw is set, small hands on his knees balled into tight fists, eyes set to the floor. Harry’s shoulders are stiff, and through his tight lipped smile, you can tell by the blotchy redness in his cheeks and the puffiness of his eyes that he’s been crying.

 

You think Liam’s a dead give away. He looks at you and won’t look away. His eyes are sad and his hands keep trembling and Zayn’s still not here. Zayn’s still not here and they have a show in a couple of hours, a short break he was supposed to come back from because he said he needed a little time to breathe. And Jakarta was supposed to be the night they share the stage again, where they wouldn’t have to save spots for him on stage. They were supposed to be together and he was supposed to be back. He said he would be.

 

Your stomach drops, panic starting there and even though the rooms big, spacious, you still feel claustrophobic. The air isn’t enough and your throat gets dry, makes it harder to swallow. And you want to ask, but a part of you feels like you know the answer, screams to spare you the heartache. Because this can't be real. Friendship was more than their brand, dug deeper than just the band itself. It was every little thing they grew up on and with and for. And that was supposed to be something that could never be broken, nothing could tear the five of them apart and yet, here you are, standing in front of three faces instead of four. You don’t want to hear it, but you do, thinks it’ll stop your palms from sweating, from the tears pooling at your eyes. “Where’s Zayn?”

 

The answer is written in the way Liam’s face drops and he winces at the name. Louis' eyes close, jaw still wound up tight, and Harry's resolve collapses when his bottom lip quivers and he sniffs. Silence follows for a beat or two longer than it really should and you don’t realize that your hands at your sides are shaking. You wait for it.

 

“Zayn--" Liam tumbles, licking his lips and your skin prickles, skin itching. "He -- he isn't--"

 

"Zayn isn’t coming back.” Louis spits, bitter and angry, eyebrows on his forehead furrowed.

 

And it stays there, seemingly suspended in air until it becomes too much, your lungs heavy. You feel it bubble in your chest and you start laughing because you never really knew how to handle your emotions properly. It starts slowly and nervously, forcefully pushed out of your chest and out of your mouth, spilling into the quiet room. You laugh and laugh, deafening in the otherwise quiet space and there’s tears pooling in your eyes. Through the blur of your eyelashes, you see Louis start for you, his hand reaching out for your shoulder, but you keep laughing and your stomach starts hurting and you can’t stop crying. Your already too weak knees give out under you and when Louis lets your body lean against his, you don’t know whether or not you’re still laughing or if you’re just sobbing.

 

Zayn had announced his break when they sat in Harry’s hotel room, containers of takeaway on all counters of the room, the air smelling of spicy sauces and delicious herbs. He had been sitting by the window, it cracked open while he smoked a cigarette that Louis offered him, his food left untouched. You noticed it, but you didn’t comment on it and you picked at the same piece of broccoli you had been shoving around your plate for ten minutes straight. You thought it was the press that was to blame for Zayn’s sadness. You thought about the cheating articles out in the papers and on the internet, how Zayn nearly chucked his laptop out the window with how livid he was when he read them. You saw the stress that pulled at his shoulders and the way he deflated when he stepped off the stage that night.

 

You are not the only one that saw it. Liam made sure to keep every touch and every word light when he addressed Zayn, smiled softly like Zayn might break and although you never admitted it, you thought it, too.

 

Harry pulled him away from the window with big, caring hands and a deep, syrupy voice. Zayn nodded, snuffed out the cigarette and followed Harry when he led him back to the bed. The mattress dipped a little when he sat beside you, your shoulders touching. Harry told him to eat his food and you knew when Zayn cracked open his container, he simply did so not to eat, but to indulge Harry into thinking he was going to. You didn't say anything and when Zayn met your eyes, you smiled sheepishly in a silent promise.

 

The quiver in Zayn's lips was brief, mouth barely pulled back before he tucked his bottom lip in his mouth, looking guilty for a crime you weren't sure he committed. The tips of his fingers played with the edges of the container and you knew something was on the tip of his tongue before Zayn even said anything because you know your boys.

 

"I, uh," he started like he does when he wants attention, voice small in the room, but the four of you still went quiet. You each pulled your attention away from the television and Zayn had smiled sadly, his shoulders turning in on himself. You felt the tension that cut through the room, felt Harry’s gaze, but you couldn’t look at him. You watched Zayn, always watched him; the furrow of his brow, the way he tucked his bottom lip into his mouth, watched the way the thin coat of saliva shone across in a strip when he released it from between his teeth, watched his eyelashes fluttered, brushing against the very top of his sharp cheekbones in dark, inky black strokes.

 

“I think I need a break.” he murmured because you knew he was too afraid to say what he’d been thinking the past couple of days out loud. The room went quiet and Louis stopped chewing his food. “Just for a couple of days, y’know? To clear my head and all that.” Zayn continued, trailed off and averted his gaze, started picking at a skin tag next to the nail of his forefinger.

 

And you felt the warmth that came from his arm pressed to yours, felt him solid and there and you couldn’t think about not having him there with you. The band was made for five boys and without one, you knew you were nothing. Nothing was the same, like a whole missing a part. There was no replacements, just five boys taking down the world.

 

But the words got punched out of you because keeping the band whole and keeping the mood light had been your job from the very beginning. “Yeah, man.” you said, your stomach clenching and Zayn gave you that smile that makes his eyes go soft. “Whatever you need to do and come back when you’re ready.”

 

So, on Zayn’s last show, you asked for a group hug while Zayn was still there. You tried to glue your boys together with your arms as if to keep him there, keep you whole. You squeezed tight and you don’t remember who you hung your head on that night. Through the loneliness and the kiss Zayn pressed to your temple before he left, there was foreboding in your veins and uneasiness in your heart. But you knew you had gone through too much together, achieved too much together to just let it all go. These were your boys and nothing was supposed to tear you apart. It was all for one and one for all.

 

You wholeheartedly believed the leave was temporary. He was supposed to come back. It was all of you or none of you. You wear all black to the first show without him because it’s a permanent loss to someone you loved.

 

You start to see the ongoing joke between the fans. That the boys haven’t told you Zayn’s gone and you still think he’s on a break, that he’ll be back soon. The truth goes beyond that. You ignore Zayn, ignore the fact he left and there’s a gaping hole in your now four piece, former five piece band. You ignore that and the shakiness of your hands and the fear that this is the beginning of the end. You put on that blinding smile of yours and you don’t even mention him. You avoid saying his name in conversation, in anything possible because you know you might break in a fit of nervous laughter and shaking hands and salty tears. Because he is just a reminder that everything is temporary, that the world that was once at your fingertips can also disintegrate before you and others will raise and fall after you’re gone and after you’re no longer remembered. One Direction will fade into the background until one day no one will remember you. You’ll just become “that one guy” in “that one band” until you become nothing.

 

They mistake your panic for a joke because it’s easier to make light of the situation with you than with anyone else, because you haven’t addressed him by his name, or addressed the situation at all, really. Your first twitter post doesn’t acknowledge Zayn because for a while, you can’t help how you feel. You’re angry, upset. Zayn walked out on tour, but that doesn't hurt as much as knowing that he walked out on you, too. You spent the better of four and a half years of your life on four boys you thought you’d spend forever with. And Zayn took that away from you, took it in the palm of his hand and walked away from it, crushing it in his fist.

 

You’re not mad at him, you don’t think. You don’t think you could ever truly be mad, upset, or angry with him. You think you’re a little disappointed though, like your lower stomach caved open and now it’s just an empty space you’re not sure how to fill. Sometimes you think you feel a little empty, but you see that Louis is only a shell of what he once was and maybe he’s a little more angry. And you see the hollowness of Liam’s eyes, the way he can’t smile just right but he forces himself to be the glue that holds the now four of you together.

 

You get into writing more than you did last time around because you think it might help you sort out the messiness of your emotions. You think spilling words from the tip of your tongue down onto paper can order the unsortedness of your anxiety. You think you might be able to breathe a little when you find the perfect line of subtle desperation and when you strum absentmindedly, your eyes closed and humming the melody to the new music, you don’t tell Liam what parts you’d think would be a perfect fit for Zayn. It starts on your mouth, but you swallow with a heavy tongue.

 

Your gaze locks with Liam and you think that you might be thinking the same thing when he smiles a little too softly at you and scribbles something down onto the piece of writing paper. “We’ll give this part to Harry.”

 

And you nod a little too hard, numb fingers plucking at strings.

  
At the end of the day when you feel too claustrophobic in an empty space, you wonder if this was how Zayn felt, too; dragged down by a weight you can’t even touch.


	2. Harry

“but now my knees are bleeding from all the times

i’ve spent on the floor pleading for you to come back.

i don’t know whether it’s the sound of my heart

or your ghosts footsteps on my landing.

oh god, i hope it’s the sound of you coming home.”

\---- _mg, ([via wondermjay](http://wondermjay.tumblr.com/post/106838134664/but-now-my-knees-are-bleeding-from-all-the-time))_

 

*** * ***

 

You get the call around two in the morning. The night table to the hotel shakes with the force your phone makes when it vibrates. It makes you jump, your body jerking itself from its half asleep state and you look at the screen with bleary eyes when you grab it.

Zayn's name is displayed across the front and you don't know what time it is in London, too tired to do the math. You accept the call and rest your free arm over your eyes. "Hello?"

And at first, nothing comes from the other end. You're left there in the bed with nothing but heavy breathing and distant sobbing against your ear. Alarm flares in your chest and your eyes open and your arm lowers. You're more awake than you have felt in days and you sit up against the headboard, adjusting the phone in your hand and the bedsheets are too cold on your thighs.

"Zayn?" Your whole body freezes over, screaming that something is wrong, something isn't right. And you feel it in the way Zayn lets out a shaky breath, the way that your hand clenches around a fist full of the fluffy comforter. “Zayn, what’s wrong?”

“I can’t do it,” Zayn sobs into the receiver, his voice shaking and panic starts in your throat, your eyes wide. You sit up in bed a little straighter, holds the phone with two hands despite how big they are and you listen to Zayn’s heavy breathing, choking on tears. “I can’t do it, Harry.”

“What can’t you do?” You ask, voice desperate. You shush him when Zayn tries to speak, but he’s just gasping for breath a little too harshly and you need him to calm down, to take deep breaths before he can talk to you, before you can try and make it better. "Zayn, relax, okay? You have to breathe."

And for several minutes, it's just Zayn's sharp breaths that puff against your ear. You go over all the possible things that could be wrong in your head, but you don't expect it to be the one thing that will break you.

"I have to leave," Zayn mutters, sniffling and you don't understand where he's leaving to, what he means. For a split second, you think he's talking about home. That after a few days home, Zayn's ready to come back to his boys. Your heart flutters in your chest, a small smile tugging at your mouth as relief courses through your body. "I have to quit the band, Harry. I can’t do it anymore." He’s mumbling into the receiver, but your blood goes cold and the smile that was on your mouth quivers out into nothing. The panic that starts in your stomach makes you feel sick and you can’t process what he’s telling you, what he’s sputtering into your ear now because your mind is stuck on those six words. He’s not only leaving the band, but he’s leaving you and everything that you’ve ever achieved together behind because you never thought that Zayn would become scared once they’ve reached the top.

You’ve been through this before, too. When the going got a little too tough and Zayn needed you, you made sure to be there for him and pull him out of his darkest thoughts. In the past, you were able to tuck him into your shoulder and let him breathe against your neck and let his body shake when he cried. You had always been there and even though you’re here now, something doesn’t feel right, doesn’t feel the same. Zayn feels out of reach and you can’t get to him and you think that’s perhaps the most terrifying thought. You can’t pull him out of this one.

“No,” You start, because you have to make him see that this isn’t the answer. It doesn’t have to be this way, this doesn’t have to be the only option that he has to resort to. “No, Zayn. Listen to me, you don’t have to quit, okay? We’re all here for you, we’re gonna take care of you.” Because you’ve been taking care of him for over four years.

You’ve seen him at his worst when you used to share hotel rooms. He’d lean his head against your chest and you’d stare up at the ceiling in the dark. Your bare feet would stay flat down on the bed, cold air conditioned sheets underneath your toes and he’d breathe in sharply through his nose and you’d sift a hand through his hair in response because you knew he liked it when you did. He’d make a sound at the back of his throat before he sighed and turned onto his stomach. You wouldn’t be able to see his face in the dark, but you’d sense his intense eyes looking at you, so you blink through the blackness and pretend you’re staring back at him.

“This is crazy.” he’d say, chuckling with nervous laughter and you’d rub your hand over his shoulder blade and smile even if he couldn’t see it. And you’d think of all the chaos you’d have to go through on a daily basis, think of the millions of people that watch your every move and wait for you to fall. But being together means staying together and you’d catch any one of them if they ever fell.

“Yeah,” you’d say back and you’d imagine him pressing his lips together. “But at least we’re in this together.” The space would go quiet and just when you think Zayn might say something to you, he’d lean his head back down onto your stomach and hum.

“Yeah.” he’d tell you and you’d think that although his tone sounded wary and scared, he believed you.

So, when Zayn sobs, “I know,” into the receiver, it doesn’t sound convincing. All the fear is there and it seeps in through the phone and into your veins and into your entire existence and you feel your own eyes well up with tears. Your hand shakes and your eyelashes are wet and it’s two in the morning and it’s your turn to be scared. “I know, I know. But it’s not enough.”

“Zayn--”

“I have to go, I’m sorry.”

You toss the covers away and you sit at the end of the bed in a panic, holding the phone in a death grip and pressing it against your ear so hard you think you hear static. You plead him to stay, but the call cuts off and even minutes after the line is dead, you’re left there gripping the edge of the bed with a hard hand and your eyes wide. You don’t know how to process it.

Guilt weighs heavily in your chest for more than you can stand. You blame yourself for a while and keep yourself distant, sod off to Los Angeles while the other boys keep the fans busy and pretend like they aren’t breaking. You start to think that maybe they aren’t as messed up as you are because they weren’t the ones that Zayn called in the middle of the night crying and they weren’t the ones that failed to make him stay when you’d succeeded too many times before.

You’re quieter than usual and everyone starts to notice. When you finally get a break from the first leg of the tour, you take the time to yourself. And for the first time since the band took off, you aren’t thrown into the spotlight. You get to grieve on your own time, sitting on the balcony of whatever hotel you choose to stay in with your phone sitting in your palm. You can’t bring yourself to drink your pain away like Louis is and as much as you try to ignore the situation, you’re just too fucking guilty because you know it’s all your fault.

He won’t answer you when you call. You dial his number with shaky fingers, glassy eyes and tear stained cheeks, but you’re left with endless ringing until the line goes to voicemail. _“This is Zayn, leave a message.”_ And a part of you wonders if it’ll always be like this; that you’ll always want to fix things and mend the brokenness of someone you couldn’t fix. If you’ll be left out in the dark forever and one of the best people you ever knew will be become just that, someone you knew instead of someone you know.

You stop leaving him voicemails when his mailbox becomes full. You wonder if he even listened to the ones you left, but you figure if the box is full then he probably hasn’t. You start leaving text messages instead in the hopes he’ll at least read what you have to say. He hasn’t spoken to you since that two a.m. phone call and a part of you is worried it’ll be the last time he’ll ever talk to you.

_It’s not too late to come back. It’s never too late for you, Zayn._

It sends for what seems like forever until the screen reads Message Failed.

A rumor goes around that you’re the next to quit the band with how distant you are and you consider it for a couple of days. A part of you thinks what’s the fucking point when from the beginning, everyone had expected you to be the one leave with the intention of going solo. You were the supposed front-man because you were born to do this for the rest of your life. And you think maybe, maybe, maybe.

Niall texts you a few days later, but you don’t have the heart to respond. You think he knows that you’re ignoring him when he sends you one last message late into the night. _We miss you._ You never knew how Niall could have extraordinary intuition, but you smile at it anyway.

_Miss you, too._ And it’s ultimately what makes you stay.

Out of the four of you, you’re the first to say his name out loud. It’s your first official interview without him and you feel the way Liam winces and at the corner of your eyes, you see Niall shift in his seat next to you and Louis grimacing next to him. When James first mentions him, you try to make light of the situation, but you can’t bring yourself to smile. It falls from your mouth too casually for your liking, but you refuse to let Zayn fall into nonexistence and you are more angry at yourself than you are at him.

“Harry, did you ever think _‘Oh, maybe we should get someone else, maybe we should bring someone else into the band?’_ ”

You don’t think twice about it and you don’t make light of it and the guilt presses against your chest. And you know James, known him for years and know that his show is all about entertainment, but you can’t bring yourself to play along. You think of what the band would have been without Zayn and you think of what the band would be if you replaced him. But you don’t replace family once they are gone. You just simply have to deal with their absence. “No.”

You record your first single without him between hotel rooms. They give you a part that reminds you too much of Zayn and you sing at the top of your lungs until it hurts. You have to do him justice. And you sit on the bed of the hotel room, listening to the playback until you can recite every bar. It plays at the back of your mind and you imagine Zayn’s voice filling the gaps you left for him and you wonder if he’ll listen to it, find the message they left hidden between the lines.

You expect him not to say anything. You expect your message to stay in his phone for a couple of hours until he decides to delete it. _We wish you were here_. You set the phone down, hold the cup of tea in your hands until the insides of your palms burn and your phone vibrates.

_I know._

**  
**You do, too.

 

 


	3. Louis

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> recreational drug use warning in this one.

“i write your name on each one of my cigarettes,

hoping you’ll burn up in smoke just like the tobacco

and nicotine. i thought eventually you’d turn to ashes

and disappear--but then i realized that you’ve been in my

lungs this whole time. with each drag i took from the cigarette,

i was taking you in as well. now look at me, i’m addicted to the

way your name tastes and how each letter fills my lungs.”

\---- _(via[fuckinq](http://mindlesskids.tumblr.com/post/71231845058/i-write-your-name-on-each-one-of-my-cigarettes))_

  
  


*** * ***

 

You absolutely _hate_ that Harry's the one to tell you. He comes knocking on your hotel door, soft raps that you almost miss with how tired you are. But it's consistent and he won't fucking stop, so you drag yourself out of bed with heavy feet, ruffled hair and a loud huff.

You expect him to ask you for more tea in that droaning voice of his, so when you pry open the door with a scowl, the last thing you expect to see is Harry crying. You're blinking in confusion while Harry stands there, face red and tear stained and you open your mouth to ask when Harry cuts you off.

"Zayn's going to quit." He sobs through sharp breaths and you almost miss it with how much he mumbles. "He -- he doesn't--"

It doesn’t hit you at first. You don’t react immediately because you’re too busy pushing Harry into the room with gentle hands and lead him to your bed to get him to calm down. You go through a whole box of tissues and a couple of bags of tea before Harry’s finally quiet, sniffling as he leans against the headboard and you’re crosslegged in the middle of the bed. Your tea is untouched in its styrofoam cup and there’s a tightness in your chest that kind of feels like a clenching fist around your heart.

Harry looks at you with his bottom lip in his mouth waiting for you to say something, but your mouth is dry and you don’t want to say anything in the fear you might break down. So, you tell him, “We’ll deal with this in the morning.” And you take the empty cup from Harry’s hands and set it down on the night table. He doesn’t get up to leave and you don’t tell him that you’re thankful because you don’t want to be alone. So, you turn the light off when you get underneath the duvet and Harry scoots in behind you, pressing warmth into your back. And it’s comforting, but it’s not enough to make you fall asleep when you can’t stop thinking and your lips can’t stop trembling.

The adrenaline that comes after your first, official show without him, doesn't come at all. You're numb from your head to the tips of your toes and thinks the emptiness in your chest is heartache. You tried to have a good time without him, tried to move on from the start, for your sake and for the fans sake because if they see you falling apart, then it's all over. But there's a gap in your heart and although you don't mention it, Liam glances at you with a worried eye.

You step off the stage with a heavy weight in your bones and the crowd goes faint and you leave to your hotel room without a word. As you stalk off, you feel Niall's gaze on you, you feel his anxiety and you wonder if Harry will reach out a hand to stop you, but he doesn't.

And when it's later into the night, you drown yourself in Zayn's cologne that he accidentally left behind and hit a bar close to town before you leave to the next city. The drink you're downing is bitter and it burns your whole body, but you can't feel your fingertips or the cigarette that sits between them. You think of all the shows after this you'll have to do without him and you wonder how the hell you're going to do this, how you're going to push through without your rock and no matter how much you tell yourself you can do it, you don't know if you can. So, you take another drink until you can't feel your lips anymore and you don't realize you've smoked a pack of cigarettes until the box is empty. The last one sits in between your fingers and you rest your head in your hands because you feel a little unfocused and more than a little sad. And the drink in front of you is halfway empty and you think that’s exactly how you’re feeling. Your other half is gone, don’t know where it went or why it did and you hate Zayn for leaving you behind. You down your fifth drink and your throat is numb, fingertips dirty and burnt from ashes.

And when you can't take it anymore, Alberto lets you lean on him on your way back to the hotel room. You're not sure when you start crying or when Zayn's name starts tumbling out your mouth in bitter murmurs, but you think it's when you're sitting the bathtub with all your clothes still on. You’ve got your phone clutched in your hand while the other pushes your hair back from your sticky forehead. And you can’t stop yourself from dialing his number, bringing the receiver up to your ear and your laugh echoes off the tiles when it goes to voicemail.

“How convenient,” You laugh and laugh, wiping the tears that collect at the corners of your eyes. “So, you ditch us in the middle of a tour and now you’re just pissing off because none of us are worth your god fucking damn time.” You shake your head and anger has flared in your chest and you’re angry, but you’re so fucking upset, too. You’re quiet on the line for a bit, pressing your lips together when your eyes sting and the grip around your phone tightens as you try not to cry again. You don’t want to give him that satisfaction of letting him know you miss him because you’re stronger than that. You don’t need him if he doesn’t need you. But you hate it because he didn’t even tell you, called Harry instead of you. He gave you no warning, no goodbye, just radio silence.

“You’re a fucking coward.” You choke into the receiver and with fumbling fingers, you end the call and drop the phone on the bathroom floor, sinking further into the tub. Eyes blurry, your arms are too heavy to wipe the tears that fall and you hate yourself for needing him so much. You don’t say it out loud, but you miss him. You think you don’t have to for others to see it.

The boys are worried for you. They don't say it out loud, but you feel it in the way they look at you with uneasy eyes and pursed lips. But you have to keep yourself busy at all times, keep your mind reeling and your limbs going just to do something. Because you can't stop, can't slow down not even for a second because you can't let yourself think about him and how he isn't there. And if you stop, it'll be hard to keep yourself sane and whole and you already can't smoke a cigarette without your hand shaking.   


You get into music management because you might as well be a workaholic and hit clubs with groups of pretty girls for the hell of it. Niall and Liam humor you and tag along sometimes when you ask. It’s better than to be alone, anyway. And you’re glad that when you hit a bar or club that you get someone to lean on when your head gets fuzzy and you start thinking about him again and you don’t feel like fucking a random to make you feel something other than heartache. And it’s nice to be able to rest your head in the crooks of their necks while Liam rubs a hand over your back and touches his forehead against yours or Niall wraps his arms around your middle and laughs with how drunk he is. It makes your mouth curve into a smile knowing you still have these boys with you, but your lips quiver when you know you used to think Zayn would always be there for you and you’ve already lost him.

Sometimes, you stare at your Bus 1 tattoo for a long while. Because no Bus 1, no ride or die, no partners in crime. Instead you're resulted into singing his solos that your shitty voice can't even sing and you hate that because you should be better off. Your boys pull you out of your thoughts by pressing drunken kisses to your cheeks. You still have them. At least for now until they leave, too.

Harry isn’t like Niall or Liam; he doesn’t humor you. Instead, he gives you intense eyes that make uncomfortability creep down your spine. He gives you looks of disapproval, a frown etched into his mouth. “Don’t you think you’ve been going out too much?” He’d ask you when you’d announce that you want to hit up a club in the new city you’re in. “People already think you’re becoming a party animal, you don’t need to feed the narrative.” And you want to tell Harry to fuck off, but you ignore him because he should understand, but you feel like he doesn’t. You always had your boys, but Zayn had been too special of a case; he had been there when no one else was, shared a cigarette and heartfelt words when you broke up with Eleanor. He had been there for you. And now, you still have your boys, but something is missing and it feels like you’ve lost a limb.

You can’t help but to check up on him and you think you’re prone to get into Twitter fights because you refuse to keep your mouth shut. You hate Zayn’s new friends and you refuse to let Shahid bring your fans down any more than Zayn already did. You finish what he started and just when you think you've won this one, the demo drops. 

 

Rubs it in your face like a fucking joke and it makes your palms itch.

 

  
But you’ve heard that one. You had gotten high together and Zayn’s red eyes had lit up when he remembered.   
  


 

“Was in the studio,” he mumbled, a wobbly smile on his mouth when he pulled out his phone from his jean pocket. You had nodded, rested the joint in the ashtray with a lick of your lips. “Recorded something. Maybe for the album.” And you listened to Zayn’s smooth voice and watched the way his eyes gleamed.

“It’s good,” You told him honestly because he’s unbelievably talented. “I like it.”

“Yeah?”

You nudged his shoulder with your palm and he smiled so fucking big at you. “Yeah, man. It's fucking sick.”

The second time around, you blink at the notification in your mentions that’s just a little too familiar and your hands shake when you tap your phone to look at the whole tweet. It starts in your throat and the corner of your eyes prick with tears and your fingers are ready to type out a reply. You want to be spiteful; _“Tell me again, did you leave because of stress or you wanted to go solo or because you wanted to be normal? I always forget which one it’s supposed to be!”_ But you know why he left, know that the media is just baiting with all the narratives, so you clench your jaw and decide not to give anyone the satisfaction of creating any more bad blood. And now you know who’s side he’s on, probably always knew and didn’t want to admit it yourself.

You lie and say that everything’s alright between you and him. You lie and say that you’ve talked it out when you haven’t. Because why not lie to the world when you have settled into the habit of lying to yourself.

You smile through thin lips and a bitter tongue and wonder if you’re as transparent as you feel. You wonder if it’s so painfully obvious that you miss him and that maybe you’ll always miss him because you’ve never felt alone in crowded rooms until now. You miss sharing cigarettes and sloppily made joints. You miss his voice in your ear and his shoulder pressed to yours. You miss the calm he was able to bring out in you, the way he could seize in the storm in you. You just miss him and you wonder if sometimes, he misses you too. But you can’t bring yourself to ask and bring back old ghosts.

 **  
** You keep “⅕” in your Twitter bio. Just in case.

 

 


	4. Liam

“they say we can’t time travel

but i swear to god

every time i hear your name

i’m thrown back to the moment

you left

and it always hurts just as much.”

\---- _([via extrasad](http://extrasad.tumblr.com/post/98518521385/they-say-we-cant-time-travel-but-i-swear-to-god))_

*** * ***

You think about the first meeting you had as a band. You think about sitting in that coffee shop with only three faces staring back at a younger you, and you remember that gut wrenching feeling of anger and annoyance and betrayal. And you remember opening your mouth fifteen minutes later when Zayn still hadn't shown up.

"That's it," you had said, exasperated. "We need to kick Zayn out of the band."

The conversation that had followed at that time is a blur to you now. At the back of your mind, you remember hearing Louis telling you to calm the fuck down and stop being so god damn dramatic. You know now that he was right because look how far you've gone with the five of you.

You think about camping in Sweden, too. You think about sitting around the fire, camera's filming your conversation, but that didn't mean there wasn't honesty in your words. _Do you think we'd be this big if one of us wasn't in the band?_ They all had shook their heads at you, muttering under their breaths that no, they wouldn’t have. You vaguely think of those moments every day of your life, every step you took on stage and every quiet moment that passed between you and your four boys.

"I never really had friends," You admitted quietly, over the soft tunes Niall strummed on his guitar. On the trampoline of Harry's dad's place, Louis glanced at you and you felt the warmth of Zayn's arm pressed against your own.

He propped up onto his elbows, looking up at you and laying on his stomach. With your arms behind your head, your gaze found his and you wonder now if Zayn saw the redness in your cheeks, the heat of embarrassment washing over you. But the way he looked at you and how your stomach had fluttered and how softly and genuinely he had asked, "Yeah?"

You nodded, biting the inside of your cheek while the boys looked at you. "No one came to my sixteenth birthday party. I was -- I was bullied pretty badly, I guess. So, I didn't really have friends, but," You had paused, licking your lips, nervousness tugging at your insides. "Now I have four."

Silence stretched on for a beat or two; the crickets somewhere in the dark sounded throughout the backyard and you found that Zayn’s eyes staring back at you were the most comforting. It was hard to see in the dark, but you were able to make out the fuzzy smile that spread across Zayn’s mouth, both sincere and delighted.

He moved up on the trampoline until his body was against yours and behind him, you saw how Louis followed suit before Harry and Niall moved, too. The wind knocked out of you when Louis collided with Zayn’s back, making him fall straight on top of you, Zayn’s breath puffing against your cheek. And you remember the laugh that broke out when Harry and Niall contributed to the dog pile until it was all heavy weights pressing against your chest. But you remember the warmth and the laughter and the togetherness that was present until it wasn't.

The band starts to fall apart despite all four of your efforts, despite the smiles and the words of reassurance. You see it in the other boys actions and the fact they try their hardest not to mention the elephant in the room; Niall won't tell you what's wrong or how he feels on the matter when you ask, but you see the anxiety behind the smile painted across his mouth. Louis steps into whatever room you'd be in at the time and hands you a cigarette. You become his new unofficial smoking buddy, but you'll feel the difference in the silence that'll stretch on between you for several minutes and see it in the way Louis' hands shake. Harry has gotten better at hiding his emotions over the years, but you see the distress and tension pulling at the lines of his forehead and the sharpness of his jaw, the way he tears himself up after a show when he can't get Zayn's solos just right.

You’re not any better. You don’t try to convince yourself that you’re better off without him because you know the reality of it all. Because he had always been the person you connected with the most, the person you gravitated to on and off stage, the person who pressed his hand to your back and asked if you were alright just in case. The news had broken you, left a shattered part of you that he took with him. But you also know that every show must go on and despite your own feelings, you need to take care of your boys and even more than that, you need to take care of the fans. So, you do.

You create a distraction. You take it upon yourself to cushion the blow. Damage control is what you’ve been good at for the past couple of years because you think you’re good at saying sorry and making sure your boys stay out of trouble. You try to carry on, take on the new solos that you’re assigned to and you promote the new album and the tour and keep the rest of your boys in check and you try not to let the stress you’re feeling show through.

But it seems like everyone starts to notice you can no longer smile in photos as big as you used to, or perform on a stage with ease and excellence as you did when he was there. It’s hard to fall into normalcy when you orbited around four boys and now you have three. Balancing it all out is difficult and you struggle to keep up despite trying to push past it because you’ve always been a people pleaser and sometimes you forget to take care of yourself before you begin to take care of others.

When Harry starts to use his name again in conversation, your blood freezes. It runs cold and you blink, disoriented for several minutes as the sharp pain of longing rattles your ribcage. Because despite being happy for him, the hole in your chest tells you that you miss him, too and you wish that things could have been better for him. You wish that there was something that you could have done to make him stay. His name jump starts a million and one memories, each one as painful and beautiful as the last. And your bones ache, eyes wet because you took for granted how fleeting time can be. It passes without you knowing until suddenly, it's gone.

You make sure to let everyone know that there’s no bad blood between the five of you; that Zayn is still apart of your heart and will always be a part of the band, whether he’s there or not. It's what he deserves and you need him to know that. At the Billboard Music Awards, you go rogue and make sure to put in your two cents, give him credit for all that he’s done without Niall's knowledge. _Our brother, Zayn._ Because he is and he always will be and the world needs to know and remember that. All for one and one for all.

"Brothers," Louis muses when you get back into the trailer. His tone is bitter and a little sad, but you know Louis knows it just as much as you do. But you say it anyway.

"He deserves this just as much as we do."

Niall goes quiet and you see Harry nod in your peripheral vision. The wound is still fresh, probably always will be, but there's truth to your words and the silence that stays in the bus for the next couple of hours proves it.

You think it's because you've never been closer to anyone before that you can't let go and refuse to let him be erased from the band's and your life's existence. Because you have grown up with four of the best friends you will ever have and no other relationship with anyone else would come close. Because you love all four of them individually and they've all had an impact on your life that you wouldn't be able to forget even if you tried. They are a stain on your soul, a mark that you'll look back on whether or not they're still in your life in the end. And you will smile and think, _I had the best time of my life._ Every bit of you hopes Zayn will think the same.

But you know he was unhappy. You were perhaps the only one that saw it as the years past, the only one that sensed distressed. And you had tried to cushion that blow as well, slinging your arm around Zayn's shoulders to remind him that you're there. You're solid and you love him and that he's not in it alone. No one has to be in it alone. But you also think maybe that's what he wanted; space to himself.

You think of showing him the track list for FOUR. Act My Age faded in the speakers and you swiveled in your seat in order to give him a large, cheeky grin. "What do you think?"

Zayn shrugged his shoulders, his arms crossed over his chest and you frowned, knowing it was something he did when he was annoyed.

“What’s wrong?”

He was silent, shook his head with his lips pressed together and he wouldn’t look at you, gaze glued to the sound board. You sensed his hesitation and a hint of disappointment, and you blinked before you figured out what might be bothering him. You had deflated instantly, sitting back in your seat looking apologetic.

“I just thought, like -- I thought some of the other songs I’ve written would’ve made the cut? I mean, I like the one’s that are on the album, yeah, but --” He paused, chewing on his lower lip and you had this conversation with him more than once. It was never the style of music he wanted to make, always liked tracks that were gritty and dirty, and a little bit more suggestive than Change Your Ticket. And you understood that, you really did because you wanted that, too.

“I’m sorry,” You had told him immediately and he had shrugged because you both knew it was more than just the band’s decision to make. And just to try and make him feel better, you added, “Maybe one day, we’ll pull out a record, just me and you. R&B vibes. I’ll beat box and you can rap.”

And that earned a laugh out of him, making the corners of his eyes crinkle and you smiled sheepishly. But you were scared and you never thought he'd leave it all behind.

"Are you alright?" Sophia would ask across the makeshift dinner table on tour and you don't know how to tell her that you feel empty, like a piece of you is gone, feels lost and you're not sure if you'll ever get it back. And more than that, you don't want her or anyone to worry about you because you have more things to worry about; Harry's hot and coldness, Louis' stress over the baby, and how sometimes, Niall forgets to smile.

"I'm good." You say with a pressed smile, but it's not convincing enough when you walk ten feet in front of her when you leave because you don't feel like talking to anyone.

On the fifth anniversary, you make sure to thank Zayn, a part of you hoping that he'll see it and remember the good times before everything went sour. Before the dream melted into nothing but a burden because although it was hard on Zayn, you had the best time of your life with your four boys. Nothing will ever compare having four bodies close next to yours in a hotel room, body heat keeping you warm on the tour bus when it got cold.

_Thanks for all the memories boys I love you all._

__

And the last thing you expect is Zayn in your mentions. You heart drops, beats loud in your ears and you have never missed him more than you do now. It's just a simple thank you, nothing more and nothing less. But you still smile wide at the sight and you wonder if that was all he needed; a little time to think.

When your phone rings several minutes later, you blink at the contact name, cell held loosely in your hand that it almost slips from your fingers. And God, you never knew you could miss a person this much in your life.

  
You accept the call and your whole world stops.

 

"Hello?"


	5. Zayn

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> very brief recreational drug use warning in this chapter.

“maybe we’ll meet again, when we are slightly older

and our minds less hectic, and i’ll be right for you and

you’ll be right for me. but right now, i am chaos to your

thoughts and you are poison to my heart.”

\---- _([via](http://conansdoyles.tumblr.com/post/113685766471/maybe-well-meet-again-when-we-are-slightly-older))_

  


 

It’s the biggest decision you ever had and will ever have to make in your entire life. You stare at the Facebook announcement for longer than you should, eyes skimming over every word more than once. It doesn’t make you feel any less guilty, doesn’t make the weight fall from your shoulders because you didn’t mean to let anyone down. You didn’t mean to let your fans down, or your family down, or your boys down. It still feels like that anyway.

Loneliness starts to become a sickness to you. At first, you like being alone. You like the less chaotic side of things, like stepping off the stage at the end of the day when the lights go off and the crowd is no longer screaming in your ears when you lie in your bed. You like the softness of your pillows more than you do nights out drinking, the sting of alcohol in your chest and the taste of stale beer in your mouth mixing with the ghost of a drunken girl’s tongue on the inside of your cheek. You like the quiet better than the noise. You like waking up in the morning without the worry of the day, of the people outside, and of you.  

You like it for awhile until you don’t.

You had thought taking the time off, you would make time for your fiancee. Maybe this would be the year that you would finally tie the knot, but the more time you spend with her, the more you don’t feel the spark that used to be there. You had been pretending for too long and you come to that realization when you can no longer stand to be in the same room as her for too long.

When you want to clear your head, you decide to take it to the studio. Paps follow you outside your house and you hate because you know what might be running through people’s minds when they see the pictures of you. Shadid convinces you to record a couple of songs with him and you accept because although you wanted to put this part of your life behind you, music has always been a big part of your life. You can’t leave it behind so easily.

Sometimes, you catch yourself. You’ll be in the shower or washing dishes, shampoo in your hair or soap suds up to your wrists. And you’ll be humming one of their songs again, singing songs that aren’t yours anymore and the hitch in your chest stops you. It’s like you’re choking on all the solos you’re not supposed to sing anymore and you’ll blink, your body freezing. But when you step out of the shower or put the dishes away, you think that somethings you can’t forget, like your favorite song. It’s like muscle memory. You don’t think you’ll ever forget. It’s ingrained into your very existence.

Your life becomes somewhat of a routine. You get up at whatever time you feel like rolling out of bed, you visit your family and every now and again, you go to the studio. It’s not like the chaotic life you once had and it feels like the itch under the skin that you can’t scratch. You’re not used to it and it bothers you, the peace you once felt gone because as much as it pained you, you missed that kind of life. You missed waking up in a new city every day, recording a song in a hotel room at the top of your voice. You need the change.

You cut your hair and pierce your nose all in the same day. And it’s great for a while, but it’s not enough. You find that you like the temporary hair spray that you find; greens and purples, but they wash out when the night is over and you think you need something a little more permanent. So, you bleach your hair, the box Perrie uses to touch up her roots sitting unopened underneath the sink. And it’s four in the morning, but you can’t sleep because you have another song stuck in your head, so you slip the gloves on and accidentally stain the countertops.

Your profile raises without you meaning it to. You attend a couple of events that are important to you and the media takes advantage of that because leaving the biggest boy band on the planet isn’t just hot news. It’ll stay hot news, especially when rumors start circulating that you’re starting new music when you were unsure if that was what you even wanted. And when you do figure it out, start hitting up connections, word gets out and you don’t know how but it does. Some support you. Others don’t. You expect this. But even though your name is still linked to the boys somehow and will be for who really knows how long, you know you’re apart from them, too. You don’t have to deal with that anymore. So, you don’t.

Except that you do.

Perrie will look at you with a purse of her lips, or complain over text. “You’re always at the studio, I thought this time you were taking off was supposed to be for us?”

And you want to tell her, that yeah, you thought that too, but that’s not what you want now and you don’t know how to tell her that. You can’t look her in the eyes because you already feel guilty for half the stuff you’ve done in the last year and you don’t want to make it worse, but at the same time, you are making it worse by not telling her how you feel. You’re closing yourself off like you did with the boys, repeating the process all over again and you’re tired. You don’t want to have to explain yourself for every little action that you do.

You think about the boys sometimes; what they’re doing without you and if they’re doing okay. You think of Liam and wonder if he ever saw your leave coming and you think of Harry and of how guilty you feel for dropping the news on him so sudden in the middle of the night. You think of Louis and your fight on Twitter and about how stupid it all was, and you think of Niall and how sorry you never told him and how detached he might be feeling. You never meant to walk out on them, though; your situation in the band had always been hard. The constant rumors, constant expectations, the backlash for simply being who you were, the constant touring and forever moving. Sometimes, you felt childish, too, knew that One Direction wasn’t getting the recognition that it deserved and it bothered you that you weren’t allowed to write your own songs with vulgar lyrics and sensual beats. And you didn’t just want that for you, but for the rest of the band.

“I feel so fucking stupid,” You’d tell Louis and he’d nod, passing you the joint. “Like, we spend so much time on makeup and books, and like -- they aren’t even cool.”

Louis would shrug at you, though and you’d bite the inside of your cheek. “I know, same. But like, what are we gonna do, yeah?”

Liam was the only one you felt comfortable talking to about the music. You remember talking to him during the Take Me Home tour, that you were tired of not being able to be more of a band and less of a boy band, stop being ridiculed and taken seriously as artists. Liam had listened to you with a furrowed brow and a serious mouth. And a couple of days later, he and Louis take the liberty to start writing with Julian. You had been secretly grateful, liked some of the stuff that they had come up with, but it wasn’t good enough. It was progress, but it was slow.

You lose everything one by one, but you think this is the process of rebirth, the finish line. You lost your boys first, then some of your fans. The next thing you lose is Shahid. Your annoyance gets the best of you and turns you into the bad guy you didn’t mean to be. The next thing you lose is Perrie. The tension between you doesn’t stop, grows bigger like a storm cloud over the months until you’re both lashing out on each other.

She yells at you in the middle of the kitchen, “I don’t owe any of my fame to you.” And no, you think, she doesn’t.

But just to be spiteful, you mutter, “Yeah, sure. If that’s what you think.” underneath your breath, just loud enough for her to hear. And you end it over a text because you can’t look her in the face for a calm conversation and you want to keep your nerves at bay. You don’t think about her or the consequences and you know it’s a shitty thing to do. You’ve done a lot of shitty things.

On the fifth anniversary, your heart swells when you see Liam’s notification that blinks on your phone screen. Because it’s nice to see he’s included when since you left, you’ve been excluded from almost everything. Like you were exiled and all your credit was disappeared without a trace. Like you didn’t even exist. But Liam remembers you, always had and your eyes go wet.

You thank him, but you think that’s not enough. Nothing with you is ever enough.

"Hello?" His voice is soft and tentative, just like you remember and you laugh breathlessly into the receiver.

Tears prick at your eyes and you're afraid you sound far away when you say, "Hi, Liam."

"Hi, Zayn." The way he says your voice sounds like home and you close your eyes to it, the corner of your mouth twitching into a familiar smile. And it feels so good, feels like coming home after such a long time being away. But if Liam notices the crack in your resolve, he doesn't point it out.

"I'm sorry I couldn't be there for the fifth anniversary," You start instead and you wonder if he can hear the sad sincerity in your voice because you're trying to say sorry without really saying it. You're too embarrassed. You think of telling him you wish you could be there with him and the rest of the boys, but it’s been too long since you left and you think you might have lost that chance.

"It's okay," he tells you, the words tumbling out of his mouth with ease. You imagine him wanting you to know that he still loves you no matter what and nothing will change that. But so much has changed; you have changed and the boys have changed and maybe nothing will go back to the way it used to be. "You'll still be part of the band, no matter what."

And you're not sure if that's what you want to hear, if you want to be a part of an old boyband you used to be in, if you want to move on from that part of your life. Because you haven’t even admitted to yourself that you miss them. You do though; you miss every bit, every part of them because you’ve come to realize that you don’t like doing this alone. You miss your boys, your brothers and the sleepless nights in the hotel room, recording music in the early mornings, late nights and you miss singing along to demo tracks at the top of your lungs, Niall jumping on the bed just to get a laugh out of all of you when you were exhausted. You're quiet on the other end of the line and it makes you nervous because you can't see his face, don't know what Liam might be thinking.

You breathe into the receiver and Liam doesn’t say anything, stays quiet. But you imagine the concern that spreads across his face when he asks with urgency in his voice, “Zayn -- are you okay?” And your hands shake because you don’t know how to tell him that you miss him. That you miss him and the boys and the band and you don’t want to be alone anymore.

  
“I think I made a mistake.” You whisper and it feels like your whole chest opens up. 


End file.
